


i forgot to remember to forget

by nereid



Category: Lost
Genre: F/M, Step-Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nereid/pseuds/nereid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how it ends. (Maybe.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i forgot to remember to forget

This is how it ends. (Maybe.)

 

Boone moves (on) to New York. There's a goodbye party in their backyard. It's summer and everyone wears white and there is food and drinks and the sound of his mother and her husband laughing in the background. 

 

Shannon isn't there. (That is important.)

 

Shannon arrives only after everyone's already left. He's packing in his room on the first floor when he sees her through the window, getting out of a car. She traipses to the door, visibly tipsy, heels in hand. She doesn't look up to his window. 

 

(Still, he knows this part of story already: she'll fuss with the keys, leaning on the door, until he comes downstairs and opens it for her.) 

 

She knows how this will happen as well, apparently. When he opens the door, she's quietly sitting on the porch, head on her knees.

 

"Coming, sis?" 

 

(Wrong, that's how that sounds.)

 

She just smiles. He holds her for support, even though she doesn't ask. 

 

They don't say goodbye. (Or much at all.)

 

 

* 

 

 

New York is good for him. New York means new people, new places. It means playing football on weekends with guys he meets in the building where he lives. It means attending protests, when he finds time, and mostly he spends days trying to pretend to know shit about business. 

 

New York also means a weekly call from his mother, during which he always asks about Shannon, and always tries not to. 

 

 

*

 

 

Forgetting about Shannon works for a while. Until it doesn't.

 

This is what happens: there's a knock on his door on a Tuesday evening. 

 

He could say it was unexpected if he hadn't spent weeks dreaming about this moment, her standing in his doorway, leaning in a pose that would seem practiced if it wasn't for her almost falling over.

 

"You're drunk," he says, tries to sound cool and disinterested. 

 

"And you're not. Maybe you should be."

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

"I came to see my brother," she says and props herself on her toes to reach his face, leans in to kiss his cheek, almost misses, but he steadies her. She smells like vodka and vanilla and he wants her to always be this close to him. (Or better, even closer.)

 

She doesn't move away. Instead, she puts her hands around his neck and kisses him. He kisses her back. 

 

It starts like this. 

 

(Maybe.)


End file.
